


Hardware

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, First Time, Genital Piercing, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before you have sex for the first time together is as good a time as any to spring a peculiar quirk on your lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hardware

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> Based on my headcanon from moaning-in-the-morgue: http://moaning-in-the-morgue.tumblr.com/post/99662607747/huge-thanks-to-o0katiekins0o-for-submitting-this 
> 
> I got the idea from doing my own personal research.

Sherlock wasn't entirely certain how this began, but here they were. Molly gently guiding him down onto her soft duvet.

_Springy. Freshly laundered. Unscented washing powder. She's surrounded by chemicals everyday at work, tries to limit exposure at home. Spritz of lavender on the pillows. Helps her sleep._

It had only been one kiss, not terribly unlike the dozens of others they'd shared over the course of their relationship. 

 _39 exactly. Varying in intensity from chaste pecks to... less (more?) than chaste._  

Her fingers are moving over his buttons. Her hands are shaking. She wants to take her time but the urge to get it done with before she loses her nerve is clawing at the back of her mind, even now.  Despite the fact he is welcoming and eager, her confidence seems to hang by a tenuous thread.   
  
She'd made it to the buttons over his navel, sufficient enough space for him to slip it off on his own. No need for further stress. Once divested of his shirt, he reaches for the hem of her blouse and shucks it over her head hastily. It was a dowdy affair, anyway. It did her lovely curves no favors. He doesn't get much time to examine her bra because she snaps it off as soon as her arms have lowered from allowing him to remove her top. Her bra was a simple cotton bandeau with a floral print. 

_No cups, straps or underwires. Front closure. Practical. Comfortable. Does nothing to hide her hardening nipples._

"Wash day." She meekly submits as her reasoning for not wearing more enticing undergarments. She is coloring and looking away. Why should she have? She wasn't expecting this any more than he was. Regardless, at this particular moment he was more concerned about what lay beneath. He does not acknowledge the excuse. She has no need of one. Instead he lets his hands slide across her skin, over her back, curving at her shoulders, following the dip of her collarbone downward to her soft peaks. 

At first he simply caresses over them lightly, taking in the convex lines to where they join in the center into the dusty rose of her areola. They are surprisingly dark, given her fair skin tone. The peaks are straining for contact and circled with tiny goosebumps raised beneath his skimming fingers. The aesthetic is not lost on him. Not so unaware of the beautiful after all. He simply prefers to find it in hidden places.

Sherlock can feel her shiver against his hands and he remedies it with the heat of his palms. He tests the weight of her breasts in his hands and they mold perfectly into his cupping motions. He presses them in and lets them go to watch them bounce with darting cat-like eyes that seem to be taking dedicated notes of her dimensions. 

Molly allows him a moment to experiment and mentally log his findings while she reaches her hands up to take her hair down from the high bun at the top of her head. Her hair falls over her shoulders and tickles the back of his hands. He brushes the curtains of her hair over to frame her breasts. The wave at the end curves almost perfectly around the underside of her breasts. 

He's busy calculating, measuring, attempting to deduce the mystery of this beauty until it is a fine stream of comprehensible data points. He does not notice that she has set to work on his trousers until she's gotten them half down his thighs. Like a true student of efficiency, she takes his pants down with them. The open air of the room hitting his skin pulls him from his reverie and he regards this act as a sort of happy surprise. She abandons her endeavor as soon as his cock is freed. 

Molly shifts and readjusts her stance until she is seated on his knees and begins to lavish attention on his chest, his arms. She gets a bit side-tracked when she discovers a rather sensitive patch over his ribs and registers his squirms and attempts to reign in a giggle with dark delight. He begs with his eyes for her to stop torturing him and get on with the part of this encounter that necessitated his trousers being off in the first place. She seems to agree to a ceasefire when she plucks at his nipples with one hand and circles his navel and the dark trail beneath with a single lithe finger of her other hand. Then, suddenly she's attacking his ribs once again. A shocked chortle escapes his throat and his knees bend up reflexively, pushing her forward so that she falls against his chest.  

Now she's laughing too. The convulsion of her chest as she laughs presses her breasts against him in a very pleasing way. She kisses around his neck and shoulders, coiling her fists into his hair as she takes his lips in another fierce kiss, running her tongue over his cupid's bow but pulling back when he attempts to deepen it. 

She sits up straight, arching a brow teasingly. He lets out a frustrated groan that turns guttural and needy as soon as her hand finds his cock, circling it in her soft hand, she barely moves. Holding it in place, she massages the underside with her thumb before venturing upward to toy with his foreskin. He rasps out a series of quiet, stammered breaths. Her grip becomes firmer and her motions span the length and substantial girth of him but still light enough to tease and torture without offering any means of release. 

Seeking recompense, his own hand reaches out toward her. She is still loathsomely clothed from the waist down. He reaches into the band of her yoga bottoms and smirks, discovering she's not wearing any knickers when his fingers find the lacy hair of her mound. 

Molly slaps his hand away, in a move that both shocks and confounds him. He narrows his eyes at her. He gives her a questioning look but instead of explaining her sudden misgivings she shifts her body again to bend over and hungrily lap at his member. Sherlock's head spins from the precipitous stimuli as she swallows him down and tugs at his scrotum, massaging his bollocks and moving them away from where they rest against his body. 

He groans and shakes under her as she is pushing him toward an early finish.

"Molly" He grits out hoarsely. She ignores his entreaty and takes him deeper into her throat, swirling her tongue around and flicking against his perineum with the index finger of the hand currently doing unimaginably sinful things to his testicles. She sucks up his length before drawing off entirely and diving to suck and lap at his bollocks while closing his cock in her first and pumping him with incredible speed. He's quickly coming undone. She's hurried in her attempts to rush him toward his climax. 

He is almost too happy to let her, but redoubles his efforts to get her attention and persuade her to allow him to make this a more equitable exchange. "Molly. Molly please!" He pleads and, oh God he's close, but she ignores him. 

With all the gentleness he can muster he curls a hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and tugs before trying again, "Molly stop!" He growls. and she jumps up in surprise, removing her hands and mouth. He laments the loss for a moment before reaching toward the apex of her thighs once again but she shies away. "Please, I want to touch you." He explains breathily, trying to gather himself after his thwarted climax.

She colors a deep crimson and hangs her head. "I didn't know you'd be here. Here in my bed, I mean. I didn't know this would happen now, otherwise I would have taken it out." She ventures a glance up toward him and he returns her look with his own look of confusion. 

"I don't want to put you off. I'm sorry, I thought I could finish you off and then sneak away and erm... take care of it. I know it can be... rather shocking."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I'm perfectly aware that adult women have pubic hair, Molly. It doesn't put me off." He moves his hands toward the band of the yoga bottoms once again but notices her tense and chew her thumb. Instead he reaches to pull her hand away from her face. "Really Molly, it's a non-issue. I assure you."

"It's not that!" She blurts out and his face falls, confounded. "It's not something I wanted to spring on you our first time. I'm not a freak! I promise. I just... liked the way it looks." She winces at her words and deflates when she realized that what she was trying to say was making exactly zero sense to the genius consulting detective between her legs. Sighing in resignation before rolling off of him and flopping on the bed. She situates herself upright against the pillows. "Go on then, have a look."

He rose, allowing his trousers and pants to fall completely away before crawling toward her. She opens her legs to let him explore uninhibited squeezing her eyes shut when she felt his hands move to slide her bottoms over her legs and off altogether. He parted her thighs wider, taking in the characteristically normal, and lovely, looking vagina. She had a thatch of hair over her mound, somewhat lighter in color than the hair on her head. Labia Majora, full and pillowy, not by any means off-putting. He examined the crease, perfectly pink and shining with want. Everything seemed to be in order until his thumbs brushed her lips apart to find her clitoris only to learn it's incredibly difficult to miss.

"Oh..." Sherlock examines the little metal bar running through her hood with intense curiosity. "What's this then?" He shifts so the crystals that hold the piercing in place can catch the light. 

"A minor act of rebellion." She explains huskily, easing further into the pillows, content to know that, at least for now, he wasn't going to run screaming. 

"A minor act of rebellion is a tribal tattoo on your ankle or dyeing your hair pink. This... this isn't a mere rebellion, Molly. This is a coup d'etat." His eyes flicking up toward her face giving a wicked smile. She grinned back timidly but her head falls back gasping when he touches one of the crystal ball bearings, causing the bar to slide against the hidden length of her clitoris. 

Chuckling softly, "I take it you like more than how it looks."

Molly grins sheepishly. "So. You don't think I'm a freak?" 

Sherlock raises a brow, considering her question. "Oh I do. I'd always suspected you were and now I know." She looks a bit stricken but he continues, "I get called freak every day. And you know what they say about birds of a feather..." He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he lathes his tongue over the jewelry, shifting it inside her hood while tongueing over her folds. 

Just like that, she tenses and cries out and he can taste the tangy rush of her orgasmic fluid. He raises up from between her legs to see her wrecked and trembling from that relatively small amount of stimulus.

His mind immediately floods with new ideas. How far could he push her? How many times could he make her come? Already he was establishing parameters for new and thrilling experiments.

Fashionable and functional. Oh yes, this is an admirable piece of hardware. And Sherlock had always been a tech junkie.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Molly's piercing in this fic is a VCH (vertical clitoral hood) for informational purposes you can check this page, it's NSFW so be advised.:  
> http://www.piercingbible.com/female-genital-piercings


End file.
